He was getting  old and paunchy and his hair was falling fast,
And he sat around the Legion, telling stories of the past
Of a war that he had fought in and the deeds that he had done,
In his exploits with his buddies; they were heroes, every one.

And tho' sometimes, to his neighbors, his tales became a joke,
All his Legion buddies listened, for they knew whereof he spoke.
But we'll hear his tales no longer for old Bill has passed away,
And the world's a little poorer, for a soldier died today.

He will not be mourned by many, just his children and his wife,
For he lived an ordinary and quite uneventful life.
Held a job and raised a family, quietly going his own way,
And the world won't note his passing, though a soldier died today.

When politicians leave this earth, their bodies lie in state,
While thousands note their passing and proclaim that they were great.
Papers tell their whole life stories, from the time that they were young,
But the passing of a soldier goes unnoticed and unsung.

Is the greatest contribution to the welfare of our land
A guy who breaks his promises and cons his fellow man?
Or the ordinary fellow who, in times of war and strife,
Goes off to serve his Country and offers up his life?

A politician's stipend and the style in which he lives
Are sometimes disproportionate to the service that he gives.
While the ordinary soldier, who offered up his all,
Is paid off with a medal and perhaps, a pension small.

It's so easy to forget them for it was so long ago
That the old Bills of our Country went to battle, but we know
It was not the politicians, with their compromise and ploys,
Who won for us the freedom that our Country now enjoys.

Should you find yourself in danger, with your enemies at hand,
Would you want a politician with his ever-shifting stand?
Or would you prefer a soldier, who has sworn to defend
His home, his kin and Country and would fight until the end?

He was just a common soldier and his ranks are growing thin,
But his presence should remind us we may need his like again.
For when countries are in conflict, then we find the soldier's part
Is to clean up all the troubles that the politicians start.

If we cannot do him honor while he's here to hear the praise,
Then at least let's give him homage at the ending of his days.
Perhaps just a simple headline in a paper that would say,
Our Country is in mourning, for a soldier died today.

They stand with reverent faces,
  And their merriment give o'er,
As they drink the toast to the unseen host,
  Who have fought and gone before.

It is only a passing moment
  In the midst of the feast and song,
But it grips the breath, as the wing of death
  In a vision sweeps along.

No more they see the banquet
  And the brilliant lights around;
But they charge again on the hideous plain
  When the shell bursts rip the ground.

Or they creep at night, like panthers,
  through the waste of No Man's Land,
Their hearts afire with wild desire
  And death on every hand.

And out of the roar and tumult,
  Or the black night loud with rain,
Some faces come back on the fiery track
  And looks in their eyes again.

And the love that is passing woman's,
  And the bonds that are forged by death,
Now grip the soul with a strange control
  And speak what no man saith.

The vision dies off in the stillness,
  Once more the tables shine,
But the eyes of all in the banquet hall
  Are lit with a light Devon.
 

 In Flanders fields the poppies blow
 Between the crosses, row on row,
 That mark our place; and in the sky
 The larks, still bravely singing, fly
 Scarce heard amid the guns below. 

 We are the Dead. Short days ago
 We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
 Loved, and were loved, and now we lie
 In Flanders Fields. 

 Take up our quarrel with the foe:
 To you from failing hands we throw
 The torch; be yours to hold it high.
 If ye break faith with us who die
 We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
 In Flanders Fields. 

  - John McCrae 

Lest we Forget

Here I lay me down to sleep

With a Tiger at my head and feet.

If I should die before I wake,

You'll know I died of an 88.